The Memory of Jennet Humphrey
by CheesyCake
Summary: It has been almost two years after Kipps had visited the lone house on Eel Marsh and entered the small, outskirts town of Crythin Gifford, but Kipps is still troubled by the fact that he still doesn't understand Jennet's intentions. So, being the ever curious person he is, he visits Jennet once more...


After the death of Stella and Joseph, I spiralled further into a world of depression and guilt as my happiness crumbled in my very own hands. I began to see Ms Sarah Cohen, but this therapist that was claimed to be the best in London couldn't help me; she didn't even believe my preposterous-but-true story about the Woman in Black; she must have assumed that I was in a delusional state and took the rumours of the townsmen at Crythin Gifford a bit too seriously.

One session after another, Ms Cohen said exactly the same thing over and over like a broken album, making me lose hope as she rolled her eyes or smiled in a disbelieving manner; mind you, she wasn't being inconspicuous, more like she wanted me to see how she felt about my 'craziness'. It was obvious that Cohen couldn't sympathize-not that I particularly wanted others to be able to believe me, which was only possible by actually facing the vindictive and revenge-seeking ghost itself-what I witnessed or what I felt when I encountered the Woman in Black. Every time I went and saw her, what she said just made me lose what little hope I had left.

After exactly thirty eight sessions, all my hope had been lost and I quit, knowing that whatever I said about the Woman in Black would be treated as I had once treated it two years ago when I first arrived on the doorstep of Eel Marsh House. From then onwards, I could only put on a front, a façade that showed everyone what they wanted to see, not the person who was breaking up inside. All the people in London couldn't see the real me, until one day, in a bar where I was wasting-that seemed to happen more and more frequently nowadays, as then, I thought that I could find my answers in the bottom of a whisky bottle.

Not surprisingly, my deduction was off by miles, and it was up to Esmé to haul me onto the right side of life. Esmé was the only anchor that I had for a long while, so I depended on her greatly. Esmé showed me many unique and beautiful aspects of life that I never, in my entire life, bothered to notice. The way that she perceived the world-with so much love and care that a tentative friendship blossomed and it didn't take long for our friendship to become something more. After two years, I finally proposed to her and Esmé became my loving wife.

Even though we did truly love each other, we had a lot of disagreements. One of our more serious incongruities was that she and I had opposing thoughts on ghosts. Over the years, she accepted the fact that I believed in ghosts, but I was sure that she thought it was one of the many holes in our relationship. Another fact was that she was different from Stella. I still loved Stella, and Esmé knew that she couldn't ever take her place; she became very moody and very impertinent towards me. It wasn't the fact that I love Stella more than her that made her treat me that way; it was because I frequently shut her out of my life for the longest periods of time, ranging from two days to two months. Esmé took caution to not let me notice her change of behaviour and she was doing a good job, keeping her feelings inside, and only the people who were looking for the change in her could spot it. Though, I _was_ looking for it, and after two weeks of subtle glances and hesitant conversing, I decided that I couldn't take any more of being with Esmé in her current state. I put on my boots and ventured out into the white wonderland, averting my eyes from the other people on the street and just walking, walking, until I could walk no more.

After what could be minutes, hours, I looked up, and was surprised to see myself in front of the train station. I looked on the board and was unconsciously searching for the train that was leaving for Crythin Gifford, but stopped myself in mild alarm when I noticed what I was doing. I left the station, but the thought of going back to Crythin Gifford still lingered in my mind, until one day I could take no more.

I slipped on the outfit that I didn't wear for two years, as I had a paranoid thought that shirt was stained with the intent of murder, even though none of Stella or my infant's blood went on the shirt. I shivered, now having the clothing slipped on, and I ventured towards the venue that I tried to escape from years ago.

The compartment that I was in stayed empty and the silence gave me a strange feeling of nostalgia. It one of the rare times that I actually mulled over what happened during my first stay at Crythin Gifford. After a long while, the blow of the train's whistle rang and I was shocked out of my stupor. I leapt off the train, consciously noting that I was the only one getting off the train. When I entered the inner skirts of Crythin Gifford, people there seemed to avoid me and my common London outfit. Animosity radiated off the people in waves and I swallowed noisily, trying not to let the hostility of the local people affect me.

I didn't bother to give greetings to anyone, but walked straight to the stables. The smells in the stable took me by surprise, but I didn't stop walking; only giving a small sign of my dissatisfaction by curling my lip up a fraction. When I was halfway to the back of the stable, a workman noticed me and called the stable-boss over.

The boss was wearing worn-out corduroy pants and a faded checked shirt, and he was carrying a half-polished horse hoof in one hand. A cap was worn sideways in a casual manner on his head but his hair couldn't be tamed by the hat and splayed messily in awkward angles.

The stable-owner saluted slowly, 'What can I do for you? The name's Saunders.'

'I need a horse to take me to Eel Marsh House,' I needed to face this alone and I decided on the train to myself that I would go alone.

Saunders cringed as he heard the said destination, 'You aren't going to come back if you go up there alone, my boy.'

'That is none of your business, Mr Saunders. Just get me a horse and name your price.'

'It'll do you no good go there.'

'Just give me a horse.'

Saunders peered at me with obvious unease and after the longest moments, he spoke, 'Six shillings for the whole of today.'

Saunders shoved a pair of horse reins at me and I gave him the money. It wasn't the fairest price ever; far from it, actually, but it was cheap, knowing that Saunders thought I wasn't going to come back with it. Besides, if I wanted to get up there, I would need the horse. I handed over the money and hauled myself onto the horse. The horse had a faded brown coat and its appearance wasn't top notch, but it was still okay for me. I just needed it to transport me to my destination. Raising my hand in a vague farewell, I rode off, almost galloping, off towards the distance that contained the murky sky, the wide moors and the solitary house.

The wind blew on my face, drying my sweat and cooling me from the hot night air. Adrenaline rushed through my body and at that moment, I thought that I could face anything, even my prolonged fear of the Woman in Black.I knew that if I didn't face her again here, I would never ever be able to keep the small pieces of sanity that I harboured.

As soon as the house came into sight, my confidence slipped out of my body like water over goose feathers and I slowed the chestnut coloured horse into a trot. I dismounted the horse and tied it the frayed post by the abandoned house. I walked, slowly but determinedly across the porch, up the steps, through the door and into the house. The air there was musty and dank, seemingly suffocating me. I thought that I wasn't going to be able to move because of the lack of oxygen in the room, until I actually tried to move and found that I was literally tied to the ground.

'Jennet, please, let me go. I mean no harm.' I said through gritted teeth.

I located the ghost once more. Jennet still had the bonnet on, covering a side of her face, hiding it in the shadows. The other half of it was stretched and scarred beyond repair. Her dress slid of her slim shoulders, and the hem of the once beautiful pastel pink dress was tattered. The bows and satin that were decorations for the dress were ripped and covered with dirt, making the whole dress uneven shades of dark and light brown. Jennet's figure could be seen through the dress and many scars of bodily injury could be made out. She looked exactly the same as the time that I saw her in the cemetery.

'Oh, really, _Mr Kipps_ do you really think that I believe that?' Jennet's voice sent shivers down my spine and at the same time a splitting ache dominated my head.

I flinched at the venom in my name and I forced myself to continue to be pleasant, 'Jennet, really, enlighten me. Why would I want to harm you?'

The ghost leered in my face then started laughing maniacally, 'Oh, Arthur dear, they all do.'

'I did something to you,' I mentally kicked myself; I meant my words to come out as a question, but it ended up coming out like a statement-a hell of a sarcasm-coated statement.

'Let's see… Things that Arthur Kipps has done wrong…' Jennet pretended to think, putting her hands on her hips in a comical manner; if I wasn't stuck in the situation myself, I would be laughing.

Jennet continued, voice dripping with sarcasm, 'Well, maybe he broke into my house, went through my private documents and read all about my life like it was an interesting little story! You should be ashamed that you are looking at other's private documents! Don't you have an ounce of dignity and respect for yourself and others?' Flecks of spit flew at me as she screeched in indignation.

Then, I did feel a sense of guilt, marring my self-confidence and the will to stay calm. The thought to run out of the house with my arms waving was tempting, even though I was tied to the ground, a man could imagine, could he? I struggled with the invisible constraints and wriggled till all my body parts were sore with the friction of the ropes; they were invisible, but it didn't mean I couldn't feel them rubbing against my body.

After a short while, I sighed and stopped, 'Jennet, why am I tied here, if you want me so badly to go away?'

'I've given you the chance to go. I'm not letting you go so easily this time,' Jennet's nonchalant tone infuriated me.

'I wanted to understand you! I wanted to help you! If you could just wake up, Jennet; everyone is trying to help you, but instead, you push them away! You suck everyone into your own personal problems into an extent that people are fed up with you. Even though your son died it doesn't mean that everyone else's child has to suffer the same fate as yours! Stop being so selfish and open your eyes! I lost my family, and it was all because of _you._' I sneered at her with distaste.

Jennet paused, and for the longest moment, she looked at me. I looked back at her, deep into her sunken eye sockets, seeing if there were any emotions shown in the eyes that were scrutinizing me. I found absolutely none.

Jennet Humfrye looked at herself then back at me, 'We are not as different as you may think we are, Mr Kipps. It is true that I feed off other people's sorrows, other people's hate, but don't you feed off happiness and hope? It is because I have lost those two important things in my mortal life I am very much incomplete.'

I kept silent not grasping her words fully, my anger leaking away from my body as confusion set in. Seeing the puzzled look on my face, she smiled, and I swear, her smile made my heart skip a beat. I didn't think that ghosts were capable of making such expressions. The look she directed towards me was almost friendly, almost like she was accepting me, like we were in this together.

'Ghosts do not get the concept of love. They are not able to use this as a protection to bar their loathing and sadness; therefore, these traits are more defined in loveless people. Ghosts are the extreme definition of loveless people. We feed on afflictions and abhorrence, just like humans feed on joy and optimistic thoughts.'

I mulled over her words, but came to my senses when she turned and walked away from me. The fact that she was walking away when I had millions of questions in my head irritated me.

'Please,' my voice was raspy; I cleared my throat and tried again 'Please, Jennet, answer my questions.'

Jennet ignored my request, but turned back towards me, smiling sadly, 'Please, promise that you won't end up like me. If you do, you won't be able to find the answers the questions and most likely never will; not even when your soul is like mine, wandering and miserable, you still won't understand why everything happened the way it did.'

'I promise,' I said in a calm voice after a moment of hesitation.

Jennet soundlessly untied me with a slow flick of her hand and turned away, walking further and further away from me, away from the house; maybe Crythin Gifford as well, but that didn't concern me. I chased after her, wanting to say some last words, but I was unable to catch up even at the slow pace Jennet was moving. I stopped chasing the ghost shortly afterwards, feeling invisible nails digging into my back to stop me from advancing-Jennet's doing. Even though I wasn't allowed to go forward, I still looked at the retreating figure of the Woman in Black, knowing that inside her, she was troubled, insecure as everyone else was. And that was what made Jennet think I was so different from the others; because we were alike.

We both had our reality to get on with and after her lecture on the harsh reality of life, I stop dallying in the house for once. I got myself a job as a columnist for the South London Post and re-established my relationship with Esmé. The kids I had with Esmé were loved by me with fervour and I treated them like any caring, loving father would. I showered them with treats, love and attention, and because of them, I experienced the joys of having a family. But more importantly, I learnt how to love. Love others, and more importantly, love myself.

From that day onwards, I never saw Jennet Humfrye again. Now still, sometimes when I'm reading a book, or reminiscing about the day's events before sleep, my mind inexplicably wanders to Jennet Humfrye. I wonder if she's still here roaming the earth, still mutilated by what the world has thrown onto her. I wonder if it could've gone better for her if she did things differently. But there's no use of thinking of the past; we all have to forgive and forget and most importantly, move on.

So, if, just if, Ms Jennet Humfrye, your eyes are scanning this exact page as I write it, I want you to know, that everything is forgiven, but are certainly not to be forgotten. May you rest in peace.


End file.
